C. Brittain - The Witch, the Cathedral

She lay quietly for a minute, then reached for my hand. “Please believe me, Daimbert. I taught him a little fire magic a few years ago, when I just thought he was an old spell-caster, but I never taught him that. ”

“I know you didn’t,” I said. “But do you remember how you came to be knocked unconscious?”

“It’s a jumble,” she said after another long pause. “But- The last thing I remember is a crevice opening in the earth under my feet. And at the same time, I think-I think the same thing happened to your queen!”

She gave a jerk and tried to sit up. I pushed her gently back down. “But the queen!” she said. “If these are her chambers, what’s happened to her? Did he kill her?”

“No, no,” I said reassuringly. “The queen is fine. I already told you, she suggested herself that we put you here.” But now I had come to the one thing I had dreaded about Theodora’s waking. “I saved her. The two of you were in opposite directions from me, and I had only a fraction of a second, not time to save you both.” I had my face in the pillow again. “I swear before God,” I said indistinctly through the feathers, “that I love you more than I do her.”

“I know, I know,” she said and tentatively stroked my hair.

“But you don’t know,” I said, pushing myself up again. “I didn’t even choose-there wasn’t time. Afterwards, I had to ask myself why I turned to her, rather than you. And I realized”-I hoped this didn’t sound like an accusation-”I realized it was because I believed you could fly.”

Theodora thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think I’m as good a pupil as I should be. I would have needed a few seconds to put the spell together. I can’t remember even trying.”

She reached a hand slowly up to the bump on her head. “Did I hit a stone? I can almost remember falling. One thing climbing teaches you is how to fall. I must not have gotten my arms over my head in time.” She was irritated with herself at this lapse. “I seem to have completely ruined my dress, too,” she said ruefully. “Could you help me up so I can change?”

I held her down with a hand on each shoulder. “You can’t change here, unless you were planning to put on something of the queen’s. And I don’t want you to move at all until I have the doctor back in to look at you again. Even if your head is all right, I want to be sure about your back and your neck. And,” after a pause, “our daughter.”

She smiled somewhat sleepily. “She’s fine. Babies are fairly well protected the first few months. And you know I’m a witch, Daimbert,” to my worried expression. “This is something I can be certain about.” She yawned. “It isn’t really morning yet. If you won’t let me up, I’m going back to sleep.” She smiled, closed her eyes, and proceeded to do so. I turned off the lamp and sat next to her while outside it gradually grew light.

The queen and Vincent were married by the bishop in a quiet ceremony the following morning, and our guests began to leave in the afternoon. No one really had the heart to continue the festivities. The cook said darkly that she hoped that those of us who stayed had good appetites, or a lot of good food was going to go to waste.

Paul stood at the gates, thanking each person individually for coming and apologizing for their burns and bruises. Lucas slapped him on the shoulder in good fellowship. “Now watch yourself, young king,” he said with just the faintest hint of jealousy. “You have to realize it can’t all be like this. You’re not going to turn eighteen, be crowned king, and have a chance to save your kingdom from peril all on the same day again!”

I thought Paul recognized the irony of having the departing guests treat as a glorious deed out of legend something that he himself considered the worst experience of his life. But he said nothing about this. Some people, however, may have wondered why he did not seem to smile.

The Romneys were already gone. They had guessed all along, I thought, that Sengrim and the ragged old magician were the same person, and they didn’t care to answer questions on this topic. They also did not want to discuss the telephone call one of the Romney girls had placed to the royal court of Caelrhon of behalf of the “magician,” and they did not want any further discussion on the topic of the red roan stallion. Sengrim had given it to the Romneys as a bribe or a reward for their silence, I realized, knowing that they would love the opportunity to tame such a superb horse and that they would be able to get a substantial sum from the right buyer. Vincent, I thought, must have paid them a good half of the spending money his father allowed him in a year.

We buried Sengrim in the castle cemetery, where kings of Yurt and servants of Yurt had been buried for generations. The young royal chaplain read the service with what I thought exaggerated seriousness. Paul listened while staring expressionless into the distance, then tossed the first shovelful of dirt onto the coffin and went back to the castle without waiting for the rest of us.

By the end of the afternoon, the bishop’s party were the only guests left. I went up to the chaplain’s old room to talk to Joachim.

“Do you think Paul will be all right?” I asked. “I hope you haven’t told him that he’s irretrievably damned for eternity for killing the wizard.” When Joachim didn’t answer, I continued, “Come on, I know that in the past you’ve felt the bishop wouldn’t approve if you revealed the secrets of the confessional, but you are bishop now.”

He took a deep breath, and his mouth moved slightly in what might have been a smile. Joachim had always taken the oddest things for jokes. “I still wouldn’t reveal the ‘secrets of the confessional,’ as you put it,” he answered, “but I can tell you that I most certainly did not tell your king that he was damned for eternity. To kill is always a sin, but this world has been imperfect since the Fall, and one cannot always make a choice between good and evil. Sometimes the only choice is between one sin and a worse one. The worst possible sin for a king, sworn to defend his people, is to let them be killed. He has a stain on his soul, but he should be able to recover from it.”

“I hope you explained all that to Paul.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Of course I did. Don’t you have any confidence in me as a priest?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or if this was one of his jokes.

We sat in silence for a moment. “How long can you stay?” I asked then.

“I’ll wait until Theodora feels well enough to travel; that will give my new dean a chance to get some experience on his own. I am very happy to see her recovering so well.”

“As am I, thanks to your prayers.”

“And to your herbal magic,” he replied, “and her own youth and health, and maybe even the doctor’s draughts.”

I hadn’t asked Theodora again to marry me, feeling that it would be unfair to press her in her weakened state, but I feared I already knew what she would say. Even without my assent, we seemed inexorably to be moving toward an arrangement where she and our daughter would live in the cathedral city while I stayed in Yurt. “But I want to ask you something, Joachim. You seem remarkably unconcerned for a bishop about an expectant mother refusing to marry.”

“I thought you knew that marriage was a sacrament, created by God. The essence of a valid marriage is free consent. It would be a great sin to force someone to marry against her will. I cannot approve, of course, of unmarried women having children, but it would be even worse to force such women into marriage.”

Clearly I wasn’t going to get any help from him.